bulidup to bigger breaths from the edge of every bed. pressure filled from somewhere in some sidestreet soliloquy you once forgot you said; and since forgotten thoughts all haunt your head. the anxious quilt to cover up until you pull a thread. and up and down, and lost the crown, the cool is fucking dead. your chest is full and scared until the air unfurls, then fade to dreams forever before the scheme repeats.
too distracted. always infatuated. everything unknown is all i'll love. everything i've loved is now unknown.
i close my eyes and look for mountains. alone i see the stars. somewhere i hear my name. all in all it's all in range. take it on for all mistakes and past unpleasant pleas. no glory in un-futures made, no blessings by the sea. again i'll scrape the stars in silent me.
it's strange this year, must be the place; things are coming up, or out, or back, things put in the past. people put in the past. songs that always held their spot in tangible torn off corners of my other lives. the desire for newer, brighter bindings feels lately fading, stemmed from lack of new findings I suppose and I consider the winter’s got me down and indisposed. the winter got me close. this year the winter bought the most in months of earnest mornings and solo midnight toasts. hours into light and feeling in the dark for ideas of fate. of faith and finding. positivity from all my faulty sides. some say faith is futile, some feel faith divine, but here I am for faith is just a question, and your belief in a strangers nod. in that sense, suspect the face of every stranger brings to you the face of god, and every foreign road should find you with a smile, knowing. you've been known. maybe now, maybe once, maybe all those eyes along the road were all yours before. I think the beauty in it all is the lack of answers, and life's only finite shine , is that it's all abstract. in bleeding over fate I've found that you find your choices in your day, they do not find you gripping, hanging on in faded jeans for glory and fatalist whims. we don't blow with the wind, and though the romance ripens in my blood, everything I have loved has been found by constitution in that only I decide I; and here I place nostalgia, here I take my name. these feelings all inherited, these feelings built the flame. this year I reach for firmament, and from the vault I'll pry.
the fault in conditions is the fault in all our faces; a famous lack of understanding, of unconditional terms, traced back to unbelievable words in moments when vulnerability hurt the worst. all of this becomes default, and framework for declarations of disbelief. the hardest one to love in uncondition is you, and only in periods, long, and sometimes lonely periods of strength through self study and big questions stared out bigger windows into the biggest backyards do we dare to even dream to love ourselves as much as someone else once has. this is as difficult to accept as to conceive, and many will live full lives as only silhouettes; but, those questions stem to answers, and answers to understanding, understanding bridges change and soon we form shadows in those same old window frames, in bright light and adoration. the process is what paints us, the picture presents us to the world.
Some of my favorite moments are melancholy
my secret songs all sad ones.
catch my breath between the lines,
all strung out,
hung out in other eyes.
come now, the stoned superlative.
with words, and only words to make all of lifes perfectly poignant truths, in form and finality, from ubiquitous to clear and conspicuous, in light of each our candid course.
given a small room for a vast becoming in every matter of the heart. a year contended and torn across a fence as all the places ahead, all acquainted friends and faces, and all the words find places left behind in a hurry as if anointed in only small talk and waning, waving hands all headed for our wastelands. the thoughts of lonely people in array, the streets all lined in fear. hearts afraid to brass, we'll all just disappear. in little box, in little room, and smile faintly in disguise. these lonely lost can't help but find, their numbered days, one year in time.
i forget sometimes, exactly where i am. i know all times exactly where i want to be, its easy to see the paradox, and feel the shift in me. i break and bend between the lines, my home is make believe. ive no belief, no hand in grand design but life and time, they sound alike and here i am just fine.and though sometimes its lost on me, exactly where i am...i love to love, and love to leave, live to dream until the end.